by T. W. Brown
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered her together to join this couple, Steven Raymond Hobart and Melissa Rachel Blake in matrimony…”
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18
Vignettes XVIII
Garrett looked at the empty bottle of Southern Comfort like it had betrayed him. He tossed it aside and picked out another beer from the tub of cold water. He took a long drink and felt the gurgle in his stomach. Garrett felt the belch rise and contemplated how he couldn’t avoid the inevitable outcome. He let go loudly.
There it was again. That taste. It hadn’t been terrible when he ate. In fact, he’d been able to convince himself he was eating something else entirely. Then he’d had the images fly through his head. His mother. Kimmy Vanderwall. His first Toy. Each one eaten by those things. The more full he got, the less appealing his meal became.
He’d fallen asleep shortly after his dinner. The nightmares came fast and vivid. The Toy’s face appeared amongst the sea of dead faces alongside his mother and Kimmy Vanderwall. And there were others he recognized like Ennis; the man who’d done all those things to him so long ago. He awoke in a sweat and decided to drink the taste out of his mouth.
It hadn’t worked.
To make it worse, the wind was blowing in from the street. It carried the sound and the smell. He was fairly certain it was that combination that had triggered his nightmares. The darkness seemed to gain weight, pressing on him from all sides.
Unable to stand it anymore, Garrett grabbed the poker from the rack beside the fireplace and stormed out into the darkness. He stalked up the driveway, ignoring the chill. Reaching the gate, he lashed out, jabbing and poking with savage ferocity. Every so often his attack would drive the iron tip into one of those emotionless faces. The body would slowly drop to the ground in some cases. In others, they were pressed so close that it stayed pressed between the bars and the gigantic horde behind them.
Exhausted, he finally tossed the poker to the ground. The sounds of the undead were loud enough to drown out his scream of anger and frustration. He returned to the house, stopping in the entry to consider exactly what he wanted to do. He decided on the beer, but he would go upstairs soon enough…and The Toy would pay for his being trapped here.
He grabbed the bucket of cold water with the remaining eight cans of the case bobbling in it. Garrett refused to look at the counter as he passed through the kitchen on his way out to the back yard. He would not look at those long, slender bones.
Once outside, he began on the beer. He could still hear them. His hands fished around inside the bucket. Empty. Looking around, he saw cans scattered about his feet. He didn’t remember drinking them all, yet here they were. He considered his choices. He had one more case left, or the bottle of Vodka. He decided on the bottle.
Returning inside, Garrett grabbed it and stood in the empty pantry. He took long pulls every so often. The images in his mind seemed to grow more and more clear as he drank. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he almost wept when nothing happened. The bottle was empty.
Anger came in a flood, and Garrett threw the bottle across the dark kitchen. He heard it explode in a shower of glass shards; some of the pieces flickering in the minute amount of moonlight coming through the windows.
Like a human landslide, he started through the house. Slow at first, but gathering momentum. He left a path of overturned furniture in his path; smashing or tossing aside anything that was unfortunate enough to get in his way. The stairs proved to be his most difficult obstacle. He made his way up, each slip or stumble adding to his anger.
He reached the doorway. The candles had long since burned out, but he could see the small, naked form outlined on the bed. He fumbled with his belt and kicked off his shoes. Allowing his pants to fall to the floor, he toppled trying to pull out his legs. With growing anger, he tugged and yanked until they finally came off. Casting them aside, he rose and approached. In shock, Garrett took note of the most recent betrayal. His body wasn’t responding. Normally anger had him fully aroused. Not this time. He tugged at the flaccid piece that dangled ineffectively between his legs. Nothing happened. He threw himself on The Toy and tried to stuff his impotent organ inside.
Nothing!
Furious, he rose up on his knees and tugged the line tied to the right arm and the headboard so hard that it snapped. He repeated his actions on the line secured to the right leg and the bedpost. It also parted, causing him to fall back. He heard The Toy cry out, Yes, he thought, cry. But still his body refused to respond.
He flipped The Toy onto its belly and grabbed its hips. Moving up behind it, he again tried to arouse himself manually. He tried to push himself into The Toy once more.
Nothing!
Garrett screamed his rage. He hit The Toy with one big fist in the small of the back. It yelped, but his body would not give him even the slightest twitch of arousal. His fists rained down with meaty thuds and even the occasional pop of a bone; sometimes from his hands, sometimes from The Toy.
Exhausted, he stopped. At some point, his bladder had let go. The room began to tilt and spin. In a daze, Garrett climbed off the bed. He stumbled down the dark hallway to his room and collapsed. Fortunately, he was on his stomach. His body convulsed twice as watery vomit sprayed from his mouth and nose. Then, the deep snore mixed with a bubbling sound echoed in the room.
Kirsten sobbed. Her body hurt everywhere. It felt if she’d been placed in a giant vice and crushed. Each breath sent a new pain coursing through her. She tasted blood in her mouth and was having a terrible time getting enough breath. Each inhale and exhale felt smaller, like her lungs were shrinking.
She tried to roll over, and it took a second before she realized it. Her right hand was free! The Big Bam had left without securing her. So was her right leg! That meant…
Kirsten pulled what remained of her left arm free of the bindings. Only her left leg was still tied. She sat up and was hit with a bolt of pain so severe that she blacked out.
When Kirsten came to, it took her a moment to comprehend what had happened. Fear crept in. This was her one chance. If she blew it because of the pain, she would…
What? Kirsten thought, Live to regret it? Not for long she wouldn’t. The Big Man was going to cut her up and eat her. No, she had to do this and she had to do it now. She looked out her window. The slightest glow of dawn was beginning to show in the sky.
Very slowly, she sat up. Her breathing sounded strange. It reminded her of the pump in her dad’s fish tank in his office. Eventually, she was sitting up. Her vision narrowed, and once more the pain threatened to overwhelm. Kirsten gritted her teeth and fought through it. Wincing against the agony she untied the knot on her left ankle. Once that was done, she took care of the ones on her right wrist with her teeth and the one on her right ankle.
She was free!
Kirsten struggled to her feet and made her way to her dresser. It seemed to take an eternity, but at last, she was dressed. Now she would slip out. She had an entire world to hide in. The Big Man would never find her again.
Stepping into the hall, Kirsten heard them: The monster-people. Why were they so loud? she wondered. Had they slipped inside the gate somehow? She could also hear the snores of the Big Man. Fairly confident that he would remain fast asleep—she could smell the stink of alcohol on him from the hallway—Kirsten slipped into his room. Were the monster-people out in the back yard?
She looked out the window and her entire body seemed to go numb. She went into the bathroom, and peeked out the window. Her mind struggled with what she saw. There were so many.
Realization crashed down on Kirsten and she cried. Now she knew. She knew why there had been no more meals. She knew why The Big Man had started in on her. There would be no escape.
Kirsten thought long and hard until she came to a decision. Calmly, she went to her dad’s office. She knew exactly where he kept the key for times when power was out and an emergency arose. A few times, a voice in her mind tried to
talk her out of her plan.
No, the voice would plead.
Yes, Kirsten thought, it is the only way.
Steeling herself, Kirsten struggled her way down the stairs. Reaching the front door, she cast one look up the stairs. She could still hear him snore. Stepping outside, the cold air threatened to steal what little breath she could take in. Kirsten walked the familiar path to the driveway.
She reached the gate and stared at the wall of horror that stared back. She didn’t recognize any of the faces. All her friends…their families…gone. The electronic mechanism that opened this gate was useless. However, at the bottom was a lever. In case of an emergency, during a power failure, of course there had to be a way to open the gate.
Fighting through the pain, Kirsten knelt. The monster-people were smashed in so tight that none of them could follow her; none of them could reach down and grab her. She fumbled with the box. Kirsten was thankful that The Big Man had shown no interest in her dad’s office. The key had been right there in the top drawer where he always kept it. It slid into the lock and turned. The box opened and she tugged at the lever. It barely budged. So many of those things pressed against the gate.
Her frustration mounted, but she kept at it. Through the tears and the pain she felt it budge. Then it popped free. Normally it took two men to pull open each gate manually. Not this time. It literally flew open, slamming into Kirsten and sending her tumbling backwards.
The pain was white hot and instant. Sheer force of will kept her from losing consciousness. The horde had stumbled forward. Many of those in front fell, and a huge, tangled knot of the horrible creatures piled up in the entrance. That was the only thing that saved Kirsten for the moment.
She made it to her feet as a dozen or so of the creatures began to stagger her way. Kirsten clutched at her sides as she made for the house, bringing a tsunami of undead in her wake. They followed, arms outstretched, mouths open; wailing, moaning, and crying out for her flesh.
Once she reached the halfway point on the stairs, the first one made it through the doorway. Kirsten noticed that this one was a girl…almost the same age. Like her, this one was missing the lower half of one arm. It was also missing one eye and had ugly and jagged punctures in its body. Its head tilted up to Kirsten and it made a strange mewling noise before it started towards the stairs.
The monster-people really struggled here. But in droves they came in pursuit of the young girl just out of their reach. Kirsten saw many wander into the house, but it didn’t matter. It looked like a hundred of them were slowly making it up. It was like a ship slowly filling with water.
Then, they were on the landing, the one-armed, one-eyed girl leading the way. Kirsten could still hear the snores of The Big Man, but they were being swallowed by the cries of the monster-people.
She led them into the bedroom, only pausing briefly, she spat on the still-sleeping form in her parents’ bed; then, she opened the door to the balcony. The yard was a roiling sea of dead faces, heads bobbing as they all came through the gate in front. There were too many for the house to hold and they were overflowing around it now.
So many.
They came into the bedroom. The monster-girl paused, glancing first at Kirsten, then at the snoring mound that was The Big Man. It seemed to come to the conclusion that more was better and headed for the bed. Some followed, others locked onto Kirsten. She stepped out onto the balcony and made her way to the rail.
A noise behind her made her pause. At first it was muffled. Then…it became a scream. The scream held equal parts fear and pain. Down below, the sea of faces looked up. Kirsten slowly made it over the rail, fighting off the pain. But the screams from inside seemed to help, almost acting like an anesthetic. Closing her eyes and holding her arms out, Kirsten pushed away and reveled in the few seconds where the wind rushed to her face.
I’m free!
It was so close. Jenifer-zombie strained and reached. Hand opening and closing. Only, it kept disappearing for a moment and she had to search for it. She had no concept that her vision was impaired, no recollection of having her head squeezed so hard that her eye had popped out. Just as she was unaware of the holed in her torso, the broken ribs. All that Jenifer-zombie was aware of was the presence of heat…so close.
The gates gave way and the surge from behind sent many of the others tumbling to the ground. Jenifer-zombie stayed on her feet. But it was gone. It already forgot what was gone as it took a few steps forward. Then, it was there…the heat.
Jenifer-zombie followed. So did so many others who could see it…as well as the hundreds that couldn’t, yet pushed forward without knowing why. The heat moved away, but never out of sight until it disappeared through a doorway. Jenifer-zombie was operating on the last “message” that came from the tiny gob of jelly that remained unaffected by death. Until something new came, it would continue on that task whether it knew why or not.
Jenifer-zombie stepped through the doorway. The Heat was just out of reach. She reached the stairs, but the feet struggled to lift high enough to climb them. A shove from behind pushed Jenifer-zombie down. She rose and had somehow ended up on the first step. The feet repeated the process, albeit unsteadily and began to climb. Others followed.
Jenifer-zombie had no concept of time or frustration and continued slowly up the stairs. The desire to feed on that Heat was the only signal she understood. Sometimes that desire would force itself from her in the form of sound as her mouth moved and the tongue slopped around.
Jenifer-zombie reached the landing and almost fell as she continued to try to climb stairs. Then her legs adjusted to being on a flat surface again. It was so close now. Her one good hand reached, opening and closing. She had no idea that the same message to the other arm was having no effect.
Into the room through the next door she walked. The Heat still visible. Then a sound distracted Jenifer-zombie. Her head turned and the original source of Heat vanished.
The Heat appeared in her vision in the same direction as the sound. The body turned, slowly and awkwardly, and Jenifer-zombie advanced on the Heat with several others directly behind her. The middle of the source rose and fell with the sound, but it was the sound now drawing her as much as the sight.
Leaning down, Jenifer-zombie’s mouth opened wide and closed on the twitching lip. Clamping down, she bit, tearing away flesh. Gulping it down, but not moving far, the Heat made a new sound. This time, Jenifer-zombie’s teeth found the nose as others began grasping, ripping, and tearing. The sound continued. Some of the others pulled away with large pieces …arms.
Her head turned as the middle of the Heat burst open like a flower. Her eyes fell on a large pulsing piece. Reaching in, she had to struggle to tear it free with just one hand. Another of her kind reached for the pulsing nugget of Heat, but she swatted with her half arm, the jagged bone tearing a bloodless gash across its throat. Biting into the ball of Heat, the warmth flooded her mouth. In seconds, there was nothing left. Several of her brethren struggled and tugged at the larger pieces between them. Jenifer-zombie stopped chewing as the piece grew cold.
Lucy threw open cupboard after cupboard, tossing its contents to the floor. Like all the others, this one was empty of food. She’d gone through all three rooms and discovered nothing. And not only had she not found food, but she hadn’t found anything that might be the secret code to open the big door at the end of the hallway.
Lucy slid down the wall and began to cry. It was all such a jumble. She couldn’t exactly pin down the images in her head. She knew that, at some point, she’d been certain that Dr. Reggie was one of those things. Only…
Only he wasn’t.
She’d attacked him with the table leg that she’d broken off during her tweak. He was still on the floor of what had been their room. His body had started to smell. So bad, in fact, that Lucy had gotten sick twice searching the room for food.
Fear had settled in long ago, displacing the paranoia brought
on by the days of meth-induced sleeplessness. Lucy alternated between crying, and ranting. Neither helped with the hunger. Twice, she’d gone into the bathroom and found a razor. Twice, she’d held it to her wrist. Twice, she’d dropped the razor onto the counter beside the sink.
As she sat there, Lucy tried not to think about the fact that she would die of starvation. Thirst wasn’t a problem, the sinks and showers still worked. Then the lights flickered.
Lucy had no idea that each of the research bunkers—ten spread out on a hub with a central power source—had system requirements. If the routine system checks were not performed on the central power router, that particular node would shut down to conserve power for the others.
According to the mainframe, node five exceeded its required maintenance check at hour 5187. Shutdown was initiated. At hour 5235, power was shut down to node five. All filters and dampers sealed.
Lucy Grimes would not starve. She would suffocate.
The rain was cold, but at least there was no wind. Juan stood atop the small hill and looked at the faces staring back. Including himself, there were now fifteen members of their little community.
“Well?” JoJo asked. “You gonna do this thing or not?”
Juan snapped out of his reverie. “Yeah, didn’t mean to hold you up from your busy day,” he quipped. He drove the post-hole digger into the ground. After a couple of minutes, he was holding the post in place while Mackenzie shoveled in the concrete. Once the lines were tied off to secure it in place, Juan stepped back.
“Tomorrow we will run the last strands of barbed wire,” Thad announced. “But today, we can celebrate phase one of our defensive measures as being complete.”
There was a smattering of applause. The children all looked bored, but the adults were smiling. Moving up under Juan’s arm, Mackenzie snuggled in close. They had their home, Juan thought, enjoying the feeling of her body pressed against his. Sure, there was still a lot left to do. In a few days, whenever this spell of lousy weather blew over, he would be going across the river with Thad, Keith, and Morris Bently—one of the new arrivals—to start picking up supplies. It would be the first time he’d left the island since his arrival.
